“The key to a man’s heart, and other parts, is pumpkin pie. Out of the 40 odors tested in the study, a mixture of lavender and pumpkin pie got the biggest rise out of men ages 18 to 64. That particular fragrance was found to increase penile blood flow by an average of 40%.”—
I used to read 17 dots every Tuesday to learn about new releases I might dig, but now that some key indies have bailed on emusic after a new major-label oriented pricing plan, it’s just not comprehensive enough.
I need a new go-to source. I poke around the music-related interwebs a bit, but I’ve become both lazy and discriminating - I don’t have the time or inclination to scour the muck of gossipy hype to find the few jewels that will truly be worth my time.
I’m looking for something that’s more than just a list of big-name releases (like this) or an exhaustive listing of everything big or small (like this). The 17 dots new arrivals model (see this) is ideal: one to five sentences on the most pressing two dozen or so releases, with a focus on the frothier cream of the buzzworthy crop, new drops from the bigger indies, and a smattering of indie bands from out of the ether.
Do you know of anything else like it?
Or put more broadly: what do you use to find new music?
Websites never say “$10 + $5 shipping and handling and storing and electricity and HVAC and internet access and employee health care and uniforms and electronic commerce infrastructure and supply chain management and nachos.”
Your job is to put my shit in a fucking box. I don’t need this passive aggressive add-on notation to remind me that when I clicked “buy” some fairy robot didn’t cleave a hole in the universe to magically create my item out of dark matter, surround it with air-filled baggies, and encase it all in cardboard.
The FOUR LOKO sits in a wooden crate. A wooden lid comes down and hides it from view. The lid is solidly nailed to the crate as we read the stenciled message on top--
TOP SECRET ARMY INTEL. #9906753 DO NOT OPEN!
The hammering is completed and hands shift the heavy crate onto a dolly.
THE END CREDITS ROLL AS WE SEE--
A Little Old Government Warehouseman begins pushing the crated LOKO down an aisle. Soon we see that the aisle is formed by huge stacks or crates. They come in many shapes and sizes, but when it comes right down to it, they all look like the one that holds the FOUR LOKO. All have markings like the message we've just seen. Pretty soon we're far enough and high enough away from the Little Old Government Warehouseman to see that this is one of the biggest rooms in the world. And it is full. Crates and crates. All looking alike. All gathering dust.
And then we notice that the Little Old Government Ware- houseman, pushing his new crate ahead of him, has turned into another aisle and disappeared from view.
Honestly, these visualizers are 3/4 of my enjoyment of this record, which strikes me as dance music for NPR staff holiday parties.
Not to be too dismissive. It’s good. It’s enjoyable. I like it. I’m just a little disappointed. I’m bored with it, which I realize is totally unfair.
Basically, what it comes down to is that I just don’t find it that exciting anymore to hear Rihanna singing over Fugazi riffs.
The only part of this whole record that gave me goosebumps the first time (unlike Night Ripper or Feed the Animals, which were thrilling upon first listen) was the part of “This is the Remix” where Simon and Garfunkel’s “Cecelia” breaks in under Lil Jon’s “Get Low.”
Pretty cool. It’s larger than I expected. It’s like a pee luge! They make disposable versions that might be better for public rest rooms. I Googled it and found P-Mate and Whizzy. They seem a little expensive though.
Iiiinnnteresting! Pee luge, I like that description. (Probably why it’s so fun.) Disposable would be excellent. Flushable? Even better.
*Cue daydream harp and squiggle* Host: Welcome, shopper, to Amazon.com 2019, where we can fulfill any need you could possibly have. What may we do for you? Sean: I want a real penis with which to pee, please. Host: Ah, of course, right over here. Try the King6000. Sean: Hm, it’s a little big, got anything smaller? Host: May I recommend the ‘Squire2000’? Sean: Eeeeeeexcellent.
All I have to say is that if Amazon is going to be stocking real penises in multiple sizes, whether for FTM or for anyone that wants to give it a shot, could they also stock monkey arms that you could attach to your torso?
I have always wanted little monkey arms to help me do things like open the car door when both hands are full and to put their finger on the knot when I’m tying a bow on a gift, and also to throw my feces at my enemies.
I’m not saying our situations are identical, I’m just saying that I too have a dream.
Maybe I’m being too literal, but I care that Mel Gibson seems to be an anti-Semite with proclivities for screaming at his girlfriend, that Woody Allen married his step-daughter, that Michael Richards called a heckler an N-word, that Tiger cheated, that Favre sent dickpicks. Now, I certainly care more about the actions of folks like Chris Brown, Ben Roethlisberger, and Michael Vick, but that other stuff is more than mere gossip to me.
If there was video of Obama pushing his way to the front of the line at Ben’s Chili Bowl saying, “out of the way, you poor sorry fuckfaces, it’s big daddy’s wiener time,” I would be filled with disappointment. Well, OK, maybe I would laugh, but I’d be judgmental in the morning.
Braggadocio is something else, and maybe that’s all your talking about. I am thrilled with Kanye’s epic rant last night (which I posted because it was an amazing off-the-cuff speech, not because I thought it was scandalous), and I wish more celebrities would speak their mind rather than give canned talking points. Politicians, too. We need more of that, not less.
Besides, on the scale of dickness, one celebrity (angry black man) interrupting another celebrity (poor little white girl) at an awards ceremony and then complaining about how she didn’t do much to quell the resulting firestorm is pretty fucking low on the list.
I guess I’m saying that I don’t think people should get away with being shitty just because they’re famous, but neither do I think that bad behavior is inexcusable. Register disappointment via internet meme, forgive, and move the fuck on.
This is an excellent and thoughtful piece by Nate Patrin that has a better grasp on the cultural differences — and similarities! — between “geeks” and “hipsters” than you are likely to find anywhere. I wanted to quote something from this, but basically it’s one long continuous stream of correctness. I do love this line though: “Why settle for taking over neighborhoods like Williamsburg and Silverlake when you can flood the entire media with endless superhero and zombie properties?”
This is a really great essay. It’s quite short and to the point, yet full of colorful asides. My favorite part, which rings really true to me:
There’s a lot more crossover potential than you’d think between fans of Alan Moore and Thurston Moore, between coke-bottle frames and shutter shades. (Exhibit B: The Venture Bros., the only cartoon to reference both Lydia Lunch and Nien Nunb.)
"All you hear now is moaning, groaning and grunting. Some guy even started shouting for more, and a woman was overheard yelping that she needed to be whipped," a shocked passenger recalled, after a trip through San Diego’s International airport.
“Back to us for a moment, our credibility, Mr. Limbaugh, comes from actually driving and testing the car, and understanding its advanced technology. It comes from driving and testing virtually every new car sold, and from doing this once a year with all the all-new or significantly improved models all at the same time. We test, make judgments and write about things we understand.”—
Even though the magazine industry is in an economic chokehold, one title will stand up for itself under that shadow of any enemy. Read the rest of Motortrend’ssmackdown of Rush Limbaugh. (via utnereader)
My favorite part:
If you can stop shilling for your favorite political party long enough to go for a drive, you might really enjoy the Chevy Volt. I’m sure GM would be happy to lend you one for the weekend. Just remember: driving and Oxycontin don’t mix.
Judging by the front page of today’s Inquirer, TSA is worried about tomorrow’s patriotic boycott of their naked body imaging backscatter machines. I say opt out every day, but tomorrow’s a good day to start.
I heard TSA’s Senior Deputy Assistant Vice President of Public Relations and Fondlings on NPR today. They’re in full campaign mode now. Of course, most of the host’s listener questions were shit like, “How many pies can I bring through?” and “Can the backscatter machines tell if I’m gay?” There was one question about pat-downs of children, but nothing at all about health risks associated with unecessary x-rays or folks with private medical devices, and no questions about whether these scanners would have caught the underwear bomber of last year.
Personally, I think they are stupid and pointless devices, but I would probably go through them if I wasn’t concerned about their reliability. I’m not traveling tomorrow, but I will most likely opt for pat down the next time I do.
And while TSA tries to blame the boycotters for hold ups (“if one of you misbehaves, you’re all on latrine duty”), just remember that part of the reason we’re in this situation is that TSA didn’t think it was worth a public announcement or campaign to inform travelers that they were going to have the choice for TSA agents to either see or touch their genitals. Folks just showed up at airports to find these polices in place.
And if you find yourself irritated at the boycotters because they are holding you up, remember that they were not the ones breaking folks colostomy bags or asking women to remove their prosthetic breasts or pulling elderly people’s pants down to look at their prosthetic limbs or patting down screaming four year olds or strip-searching six year olds or touching sexual assault survivors in private places.
If you don’t have sympathy for those people, well, then I don’t think you deserve a very happy Thanksgiving anyway.
Otherwise, enjoy the clusterfuck. Show up early. Bring some pies.
“Unlike Michael, [Kanye’s] not interested in scrubbing away bits of himself— his blackness, his candidness— to appease the masses. And while Jackson’s own twisted fantasies of paranoia and betrayal eventually consumed him whole, West is still aware of his illusions, though that mindfulness becomes increasingly unmoored with each newspaper-splashing controversy. The balance is tenuous, but right now it’s working to his advantage.”—
People always complain about the ratings at Pitchfork, but I don’t care about the numbers. It’s the words that piss on my soul.
There is so much going wrong in the new Kanye review, it’s hard to know where to start. I don’t expect every review to be great, but I think a 10.0 review should put forth some sort of cogent argument. This quote is simply the part I found most egregious.
First, MJ’s self-butchery clearly wasn’t a result of his need to “appease the masses,” but rather was caused by living in his own secluded bubble-world, isolated from reality and perspective. He was working towards his own fucked up image of perfection.
Second, to suggest Kanye isn’t interested in “scrubbing” suggests that he’s unwilling to compromise, but Kanye is clearly one of the savviest pop stars out there when it comes to noticing and exploiting trends. His one-step-ahead moves are much more like Madonna’s smart image tweaks in the 80s and 90s than, say, Miles Davis’s deeply personal evolution from hard bop to jazz fusion. Tweeting and blogging and dropping singles every Friday for months to build anticipation of his record are all part of a modern PR campaign, whether or not they reflect his unscrubbed soul.
The rest of the paragraph just loses it. I don’t think Michael Jackson had “fantasies” of paranoia and betrayal. Delusions, maybe? Kanye said he had a “goal” and this is not the same as having “illusions, and being aware of your “illusions” is not “mindfulness.” Self-awareness, maybe. Is mindfulness usually moored to something? I don’t think the newspapers are splashing. Balance of what two things, exactly?
Look, I get the attraction of comparing MJ to Kanye, but this review borders on the nonsensical. It is full of these sorts of superficial comparisons that fall apart the second you think about them. There’s no there there.
Take the last paragraph, which comes back to this comparison, suggesting, in equally awful language, similarities between MJ’s and Kanye’s problematic “behavior” and their “wide-eyed” naivete. What? MJ changed his SKIN TONE and his ENTIRE FACE STRUCTURE and lived in a THEME PARK with MONKEYS and MACAULEY CULKIN and is accused of MOLESTING CHILDREN, whereas Kanye interrupted someone at an awards ceremony. Being INSANE is not the same as being IMMATURE.
I give this review a 0.0.
None of this has anything to do with the record, which may very well be amazing.